


I Could Do This All Night

by winterfool



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, but it's pretty mild, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/pseuds/winterfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the training camp, prior to Steve taking the serum, Peggy finds him getting beaten up and offers to teach him how to fight to suit his size.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Do This All Night

Steve saw the punch coming before it landed.

It was all in the guy’s stance: in the way he shifted slightly on to his left foot, drawing his right shoulder back to lend more power to the swing, the way his eyes flickered very briefly to Steve’s abdomen, where he was aiming, before snapping back to Steve’s face. And, of course, in the curl of his hand into a fist.

You didn’t spend twenty years getting beaten up in the various back alleys of Brooklyn without learning how to pick apart a guy’s movements and spot what was coming next.

Steve took a breath, tensing his stomach muscles – what little of them there were – in readiness. It was all he could do; the guy’s partner had Steve’s shoulders in an iron grip, his fingers digging painfully into Steve’s collarbone, preventing him from doing anything other than wriggle helplessly. No, he just had to grit his teeth and take it.

Expecting it didn’t make it hurt less, though. Steve grunted as the air was forced out of him, pain radiating out in a slow circle from his middle. Black spots eclipsed his vision for a few moments before he could blink them away, his eyes watering. It was humiliating, but Steve had long since grown used to that cold sensation curling down his spine. At least he hadn’t passed out completely, as he had done a few times when he was younger and hadn’t yet learned how to take a hit.

Plastering a grin that was more like a grimace on to his face, he forced himself to ignore the ache running down his neck and spine and lifted his head.

“That all you got?” he wheezed out, wishing he didn’t sound quite so winded. “I’m disappointed.”

Anger flashed in his attacker’s eyes and he let out a snarl of frustration, as Steve had known he would.

“Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised, seeing as you need Meathead here to hold me before you feel up to punching me.”

The guy’s hand snaked out in quicksilver motion, grabbing Steve by the jaw so hard that there would probably be fingernail marks. His expression was dark and dangerous, his temper barely controlled, and all Steve could think was how unfair it was. Unfair that this guy, and all the guys like him, were the ones that fit the U.S. Army’s criteria. Unfair that they were fit, muscular and healthy and passed their medical examinations with flying colours, while Steve was only here because he was desperate enough to let Erskine make him a science experiment.

Which was why despite knowing he shouldn’t have let them provoke him, that it was a very bad idea to start fighting with the recruits that tomorrow he would be training with, Steve couldn’t help himself. Because god damn the resentment had been boiling up in him for so long, eating away at him like acid corroding him from the inside, hot and painful and never ending. He had thought finally getting that 1A stamp might help ease some of it, but it hadn’t really. He was training with just as many bullies as he had left behind. And he hated it.

“I don’t know who was soft enough in the head to let you in this programme, runt,” the other guy (Steve couldn’t even remember his name; they had all blurred into one after a while) was saying, “But by the time I’m through with you, you’re gonna be begging to be sent home to mommy.”

“Not if I get through with you first,” a dry voice said behind him.

For a brief, bizarre moment, Steve thought it was Bucky who had come to rescue him. Almost every other fight he had been in, after all, had ended with Bucky pulling his assailants off him. Then his mind caught up with his senses and he realised the voice that had spoken was higher, feminine, and spoke in crisp, clear-cut English accent.

Agent Carter?

His assailant didn’t seem to have made that connection, swinging round with a fist already in the air. But Agent Carter was ready for him, bringing her hand up to deflect the blow while slamming her heel into the recruit’s foot. When he instinctively doubled over in pain her knee came up to collide with his stomach, and then a single punch was all it took to knock him senseless to the ground.

Peggy tugged on the ends of her jacket, straightening her uniform, and looked at the man still holding Steve.

“You can either leave now and take your friend to seek medical attention, or I can do to you what I just did to him and take you both to the doctor when I’m finished. Your choice.”

He didn’t hesitate, dropping Steve to the ground and hoisting his unconscious friend up by the should and half-dragging him away as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.

“Good choice,” Peggy murmured. “Not that it will save them from being disciplined.”

She turned back to Steve, who had managed to pick himself up from the ground but was all too aware of the fact that he was standing at a slight angle, breathing heavily, his hair mussed, blood on his face, and that every part of his body seemed to be in pain, from the top of his head right down to the burning soles of his flat feet.

Agent Carter, on the other hand, had not a hair out of place and looked as unruffled as ever. The warm flutter that always filled him when she was around was there in full force, which only made it harder to meet her gaze when he expected to find nothing but pity there. After witnessing this, how could she feel anything else?

“Steve. Are you alright?”

The use of his first name surprised him into looking up directly into her eyes. He had spent more time than was probably appropriate trying to find a colour to compare them to – cinnamon, chocolate, coffee, gingerbread – but nothing seemed to fit. They were just warm and brown and brilliant. And now there was no pity in them at all. There was concern, understanding and something like almost seemed like curiosity in the faint frown crinkling around their edges, but no pity.

Steve’s heart gave a sideways lurch against his ribs.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I coulda done that all day. Well, night,” he amended, glancing up at the sky, stained orange and pink by the sunset.

Peggy’s lips twitched. “I’ve no doubt. It didn’t seem like the most productive use of your time, though. I hope you don’t mind my stepping in?”

“No, not at all. That was impressive, the way you handled them. If it’s okay to say.”

Impressed was the least of what he’d felt. He had been impressed when she knocked Hodge on his ass the first day of training. Just now her moves had been so crisp and clean, ruthlessly efficient … Steve had thought he could happily watch her take out an entire army.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and then eyed him again with that curious consideration. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first fight like this you’ve been in.”

“No … no, it’s not.”

“Did someone teach you how to fight?”

He shrugged. “Bucky taught me a few moves.”

“Who’s Bucky, may I ask?”

“My best friend. We grew up together in Brooklyn. He’s in the 107th now, but back then … he was always getting me out of fights. You know, when you showed up for a moment I almost thought …”

He shook his head, smiling at his own foolishness.

“You thought I was him?” Peggy finished the thought for him.

“Yeah. I mean, no. I’d never mistake you for him, I mean.”

Steve had suddenly realised it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell the woman you had more than a little bit of a crush on that you had mistaken her for a man.

He had never been much good at talking to women. Most of them were only interested in what he could tell them about Bucky anyway and, besides, he could never stand the way they looked at him – with a sort of patronising sympathy. Like he was something less, somehow.

Peggy never looked at him like. When she looked at him, Steve felt no different than any other man. And yet that only made him more nervous; made his palms sweat and his mouth dry like he was a fifteen year old on his first date. It made him inclined to ramble and blurt out whatever was in his head without thinking much.

“I _mean_ ,” he continued now, wondered if boded good or ill that Peggy’s lips were twitched with amusement again. “I knew it couldn’t be Buck. He’s in Europe. But I’m just so used to him showing up, you know?”

It was even how they had met – Steve, five years old and already small and skinny for his age thanks to the scoliosis and anaemia, had tried to stop a group of larger boys from tormenting a stray cat, so they had decided to torment Steve instead. He had been curled up on his side, trying to protect his ribs from their kicks, when suddenly Bucky had been there like some kind of avenging angel, spitting furious, knocking the other boys away.

After that, Bucky had somehow always managed to be there when Steve got into a fight, whether through a well placed network of informants or just some kind of sixth sense that told him his skinny best friend was having his ass handed to him again. In truth, Steve wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if Bucky had found a way back from Europe to an American training camp just to stop him getting kicked about.

“Yes, I think I do.” Peggy smiled, and Steve couldn’t help thinking it lit up her whole person from the inside out. Then that speculative look returned to her eyes as she looked him up and down. “Tell me. What does your friend look like?”

_God damn it, Bucky. You’re not even here and women are only interested in asking me about you._

“Bucky? Uh, he has brown hair, blue eyes –”

“No, no.” Peggy’s eyes were twinkling with laughter, little creases appearing at the corners. “I mean, he is tall? Powerfully built?”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s near six feet, I think, and I guess he has broad shoulders? He’s pretty strong.”

Peggy was nodding, lips pursed thoughtfully, like he’d just confirmed something. “I thought so. Come with me.”

Without another word she turned smartly on her heel and started striding away back across the compound. Steve stared after her for a moment, trying (and failing) not to fix his eyes on the swaying of her hips, then started hurrying in her wake.

Mercifully his breathing had evened out as they talked, so although his lungs still felt tight he didn’t think he was in danger of an asthma attack as he ran to catch up. He kept one arm across his stomach though, which was still sore, and tried to ignore the dull ache in his neck and shoulders.

“Agent Carter? Where are we going?” he asked as he reached Peggy’s side.

“You’ll see. And it’s Peggy, when we’re not on duty.”

“P-peggy,” he repeated, stumbling a little over the syllables they felt so intimate on his tongue. The fluttering in his stomach had reached a peak, like thousands of tiny wings were battering his insides.

She led him around the back of the one of the low buildings that formed the camp, to the stretch of land where the recruits were put through their paces every day. It was deserted at this time of the evening, nearly everyone else at the time eating before retiring to bed.

Peggy stopped at the spot that afforded them relative privacy, screened by the building behind them and several trees, and then to Steve’s bemusement started unbuttoning her jacket.

“Um. Peggy …?”

She didn’t reply, and Steve wasn’t entirely sure he would have heard if she did as he was too busy noticing the way the white shirt she wore underneath it showed off her figure very nicely. She rolled up the sleeves until they were above her elbows, then removed her tie and kicked off her shoes. Finally she pulled a hair tie from the pocket of her jacket and scraped her hair back into a low ponytail.

“Right.” She turned to face him, hands on hips. “Let’s get started.”

“Get started on what?” Steve asked, dragging his eyes from the bare skin of her arms. How the hell could _arms_ be so attractive?

“I’m going to teach you to fight.”

He goggled at her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I watched for a few moments, before I intervened. Your friend Bucky did his best to teach you how he fights, I’m sure. But that won’t work for you.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, a little defensively.

Peggy met his gaze evenly as she replied, her words honest and without inflection. “You said Bucky is six feet or thereabouts, and powerfully built. You, Steve, are five foot four and rather skinny. You suffer from numerous medical complaints. Trying to emulate the way Bucky fights is not going to help you win, because you do not have his height or his build to back it up.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He could hardly argue because she was right, much as he hated to admit it. No one excepting his mother and his doctors was ever quite so blunt about his physical disadvantages, and, while the old burning sense of injustice still raged in his stomach, he found he didn’t mind Peggy talking about it. There was something about the forthright way she said it, without pity, without judgement. It was a fact he had to face up to.

And apparently it didn’t change her opinion of him – whatever that was, exactly – as she was offering to help him do something about it.

“So what do you suggest?”

She smiled. “Being smaller and less physically capable can be a disadvantage, it’s true. But there are ways of using an opponent’s size and strength against them. You have to work with your shortcomings, not try and act as if they weren’t there. And I speak from experience when I say having people underestimate you can turn your disadvantage into an advantage.”

Steve couldn’t imagine anyone underestimating Peggy Carter, unless they had either spent less than thirty seconds in her company or were just stupid.

“Now. Fists up,” she ordered, “Show me your fighting stance.”

Steve complied, moving his feet apart and settling his weight, ignoring the familiar pain in his feet and spine, bringing his fists up in front of him.

Peggy looked him slowly up and down.

“Well, I certainly hope you meant it when you said you could do this all night. Because I have a feeling we might very well be here that long.”

A grin pulled at the corners of Steve’s mouth. A whole night spent with Peggy teaching him to fight? He could think of worse things.

“Oh, I meant it. Don’t you worry about that.”


End file.
